The Seven Stars Read online

  ‘Yes and I’ve found Gubs,’ came a reply from the dark. ‘We’re going to be all right.’ Josephus too embraced the helmsman, delighted that another soul had been spared from the wreck.

  ‘It’s good to see you two,’ said Gubs. ‘I thought we were the only survivors.’

  ‘Who’s “we”?’ asked Josephus.

  ‘All-powerful Neptune was good enough to save about thirty others. I’ve left them down on the beach trying to get a fire going while I fetch help. Most of them are in no fit state to walk.’

  ‘So if Neptune is so all-powerful, how come he let us get wrecked in the first place?’ snapped Josephus.

  Gubs turned on him angrily. ‘How would I know? I’m a sailor, not a priest. And besides, fat lot of good you did by praying to your camel-rogering lubber of a god – probably wouldn’t know sea water if he fell in it.’

  Josephus decided against starting a theological argument and turned to more practical matters. ‘So how far are we from Syracuse?’

  ‘Too far,’ said Gubs. ‘There are villages to the south of the city, so we can try there, but we’ll have to be careful.’

  In the moonlight, Josephus saw Alityros’ eyes widen with alarm. ‘Why’s that? Are they really cannibals?’ he asked.

  ‘No, not cannibals,’ said the seaman. ‘But wrecking is more profitable than fishing, and survivors aren’t treated as welcome guests.’

  ‘W-why’s that?’

  ‘Well it’s obvious. If you’re making off with the contents of a wrecked ship, the last thing you want are witnesses, and secondly, most people will drown rather than see their gold go down to the bottom, so there’s a good chance that at least some of those who wash up will be worth robbing. And if they’re dead, they’re not likely to put up much of a fight or complain, are they?’

  ‘So d’you think they’ll try and kill us?’ asked Alityros.

  ‘Not if you do as I tell you. If asked, you’re members of the crew and I’m your watch commander. Got that?’ The two men nodded. ‘Good. Now if you can keep up, we should make Arenella in an hour or so.’

  The two men followed Gubs, trudging on in silence, thirst rendering conversation a painful necessity rather than something companionable. After what felt more like two hours than one, they climbed to the top of another scrubby ridge and saw firelight about half a mile further on. ‘It’s not much, but that’s Arenella,’ said Gubs. ‘Remember what I told you, and watch your backs, we may have to fight our way out.’

  ‘Fight?’ said Alityros in a quavering voice.

  ‘Yes, fight. I take it you’ve done your time in the army?’

  ‘No, I got a deferment. I had bad feet. I’m an actor.’

  ‘Great. Now you fucking tell me,’ said Gubs. ‘Just what we need in a tight corner, a professional bloody pansy. Look, I’ll tell you what, if trouble breaks out, offer them your arse and while they’re having you, me and the camel jockey here will make a run for it.’ That seemed to conclude the debate and the three men continued down the slope towards the village – a group of primitive shacks clustered round a small natural harbour.

  They were about fifty yards from the first buildings when the barking started. First one, then another of the village dogs took up the refrain and by the time they’d gone another twenty paces they saw figures, silhouetted by makeshift torches, coming out to meet them, the flickering light glinting from their knives and fishing tridents. ‘Stop here,’ said Gubs, and moving forward, came to a halt a few paces further on with his right hand held aloft in greeting, addressing the welcoming committee in a rough Latin patois that Josephus barely understood.

  ‘Who the Hades are you and what do you want?’ said a burly man, pointing a crude spear at Gubs’ chest.

  ‘Social call, that’s all,’ he replied. ‘The Cygnus and ninety souls, wrecked on the Siren’s Daughters.’

  ‘I asked you who you were.’

  ‘I’m the ship’s gubernator and these are two of my boys.’

  ‘What were you carrying?’

  ‘Garum and wheat.’

  ‘That all?’

  ‘Yes, and before you go getting your hopes too high, the ship broke up and the only passengers who survived got out in what they stood up in. You might pick up some decent timber, but that’ll be about it’

  ‘Ninety souls, you say? We can’t look after that many – it’s as much as we can do to make a living here.’

  ‘We’re not asking you to. There’s about thirty survivors on a beach an hour south of here. If you can get water to them in the morning, we’ll push on to Syracuse and organise ships to come and take them off. I’ll make sure the Cygnus’s owner knows about what you’ve done and that you’re properly rewarded.’

  ‘How do I know I can trust you?’

  ‘You don’t,’ said Gubs. ‘But you’ve nothing to lose and plenty to gain by offering three men a drink and somewhere to lay their heads. Now for pity’s sake, give us some water. Please.’

  The water was stale and tasted of the goat whose skin the bottles were made from but for the three survivors it was nectar. Their hosts, after overcoming their initial misgivings, even offered them food: a watery stew made from fish heads and well past its prime – although to them it was the finest meal they’d ever tasted.

  The following morning the sole reminder of the storm was the heavy swell which continued to beat against the rocks of the little fishing harbour as they set off for Syracuse. Good to their word, the men of the village had left at first light with amphorae of water for the other survivors who had passed a miserable night, huddled together for shelter in the dunes.

  Josephus and his two colleagues struck inland to pick up the Via Elorina which led north east towards the city, and within an hour were picked up by a carter who took them the rest of the way in relative comfort, perched on the back of his load of firewood. Alityros and Gubs seemed to have patched up their differences from the night before and the former entertained them with a series of anecdotes about life as an actor in Rome and with scurrilous tales of the doings of the imperial court.

  The sun climbed higher, and rocked by the gentle movement of the cart, Alityros began to snore while the others carried on talking.

  ‘You never did tell me why you were going to Rome,’ Gubs asked Josephus.

  ‘Diplomacy.’

  ‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’

  Josephus shrugged. ‘You know, asking favours, doing a few in return.’

  ‘What kind of favours? And who from?’

  ‘Nero.’

  Gubs laughed. ‘Ask a silly question. Come on, I’m curious.’

  ‘All right,’ he said with a sigh. ‘I don’t see what harm it can do. Without going into too much detail, I’m reasonably well-connected in Judea and three of my countrymen are currently staying as Nero’s guests in Rome.’

  ‘Jewish prisoners, you mean? What, like the Christians?’

  ‘No, absolutely not,’ snapped Josephus. ‘Nothing like them at all, in fact quite the opposite. These are men I know and respect: well-bred, highly-educated members of our priesthood who are friends of Rome.’

  ‘But they’re still in chains, right?’ said Gubs.

  ‘I wouldn’t put is as crudely as that, but let’s just say that owing to a slight misunderstanding their liberty is somewhat constrained at the moment.’

  ‘And you’re going to ask Nero to let them go, is that it?’

  ‘Something along those lines.’

  Alityros woke up and joined the conversation. ‘Well I hope it keeps fine for you, Josephus.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Are you interested in the theatre? Do you play the lyre, act or sing?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well in that case you won’t get anywhere with him unless – ’

  ‘Unless what?’

  ‘Unless you can get the right side of Poppaea Sabina, you haven’t a chance.’

  ‘So they’re married now? I’d heard rumours but I didn’t k
now it was official.’ said Josephus.

  ‘Earlier this year.’

  ‘So how do I get to meet her?’

  ‘She’s a good friend of mine and I’ll introduce you,’ said Alityros who had woken up. ‘Least I can do for someone who saved my life.’

  They sat on the back of the bullock cart, legs swinging over the tail in the dust stirred up by the wheels and chatting about nothing in particular until at last they came to the gates of Syracuse.

  ‘So how are we going to get to Rome?’ asked Josephus as they walked through the city streets.

  ‘More to the point, when do we eat?’ said Alityros.

  ‘I think I can answer both of those. Look,’ said Gubs, pointing towards the pharos which was just visible above the red-tiled roof-tops.

  ‘What are we supposed to be looking at?’

  ‘The standard of the imperial fleet. I served ten years under Volusius Proculus. I was with him right from when he was a junior officer and now he’s commander of the Puteoli squadron. The standard means they’re in port.’

  ‘Is that good?’ asked Alityros.

  ‘It is if you want to get home before the fleets stop sailing for the year.’

  Chapter Six

  From somewhere in another world, Flora could hear a persistent bleeping sound: her mobile phone. Pale strands of light showed through the shutters and as she fumbled for the source of the noise, she noticed that the clock by the bedside showed 6:15 AM. She rolled onto her side and answered the call: it was Francesco Moretti. At first, she couldn’t make out what he was saying, so loud was the background noise of shouting and what sounded like police sirens but then she realised that she could hear the same wailing, coming from only a few streets away. ‘What is it, Francesco, what’s the matter?’

  ‘I’m at the lab. There’s been a break-in.’

  ‘Oh Christ, is there anything missing?’

  Moretti’s voice choked with emotion. ‘Almost everything from the dig. The codices, the copper plates, the astrolabe. It’s all gone.’

  She felt for a moment as though someone had punched her in the stomach. ‘Oh good God. Is there anything I can do?’ she asked. ‘I’ll come over if you need me there but I don’t want to get in the way.’

  He asked her to wait while he checked with the police. ‘Can you come over now? They want to take a statement and fingerprint you – don’t worry, they’re doing everyone, it’s just routine.’

  Flora fell out of bed, pulled on her clothes, tied her hair back and set out for the lab, the chill of the morning air coming as a shock after the warmth of the bed she’d left so hurriedly. The Carabinieri had set up a cordon and she had to call Moretti to come and vouch for her before they would let her through.

  Inside, an appalling sight greeted her. The lab had been systematically wrecked and the floor was a mess of broken glass, splintered woodwork and awash with spilled chemicals. In the offices, PC screens had been slashed and the few machines which remained had had their hard disks removed; but worst of all, the air-tight, climate-controlled cabinets and safes which held the dig’s finds had been smashed open and their contents removed. The lab’s server room had been torched and the stench of burnt wiring caught in her throat. Flora felt sick to the stomach and turning to Moretti, asked, ‘Have you told Donald about this?’

  He looked down at his feet. ‘My English is not very good – ’

  She put a consoling hand on his arm. ‘And you’d like me to do it?’ He nodded and Flora dialled. Sumter’s response was predictable: he raged and shouted, and “incompetent” was about the most polite thing he said about the Italians in general and the Soprintendenza Archaeologica in particular, during the entire tirade.

  It took only fifteen minutes for Flora to give the Carabinieri a statement and she rejoined Moretti who was walking in helpless circles in the wreckage of his office. ‘Come on, Francesco, let’s go and have breakfast,’ she said. ‘You’re not doing any good getting in the way here.’

  Around the corner they found a workmen’s café. A dozen pairs of eyes turned to look at the strangers and Flora winced as they ran their gaze over her body, mentally undressing her without even bothering to hide what they were doing. She affected not to notice and the two of them took a corner seat. ‘So did anything survive?’ she asked, taking a sip from her scalding coffee.

  Moretti shook his head. ‘One or two fragments from the conservation lab, but that’s about it.’

  ‘How much had been recorded?’

  ‘Not much. We’d only just started and most of that’s gone too.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You saw the server room,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, but surely you have off-site back up? Please don’t tell me – ’

  Moretti rubbed his thumb and first two fingers together. ‘No money, Flora. They saved a few thousand euros and now look at what it’s cost them. No offsite back-up and if we can’t recover anything from the network, then it’s all gone. Your laptop and Sumter’s are all we’ve got, those and a few digital photos on my team’s own cameras.’

  ‘And do the Carabinieri have any idea who did it?’

  ‘They think so.’

  ‘Not the ma…’

  He held a hand up to silence her. ‘I told you, don’t use that word. But yes, them.’

  Flora was beside herself. ‘But if those documents aren’t properly conserved, in contact with light and humidity they’ll fall apart within months, days some of them.’

  ‘Yes, but you don’t understand,’ replied Moretti. ‘These gangs have been doing it for years, they’re professionals. They have people working for them who…I hate to say this, but who have day-jobs as archaeologists and who make more in two or three weeks working for the Camorra, than they can in a year as badly-paid state employees.’

  ‘So you think it was an inside job?’ she said, aghast.

  ‘I’m saying it’s not impossible, that’s all.’

  ‘But who? And why go to all the trouble of destroying the PCs and the servers?’

  Moretti shook his head again. ‘That’s what the Carabinieri want to know. Normally when a gang steals finds they only break what they need to: you know, get in and out as quickly as possible. Well, here, they certainly took their time.’

  Flora stared into space, deep in thought. ‘It’s almost as if they didn’t want there to be any trace of these finds ever existing. Surely, that wouldn’t increase the black-market value, would it?’

  ‘Just the opposite. If there’s no verifiable provenance, then it’s far harder to know whether what’s on sale is the real thing or not. All I know is that I hate them, Flora. I promise you, if I catch them, I’ll kill them myself.’

  She reached across the table and patted him affectionately on the hand. ‘Come on, let’s not talk about killing anyone. How about a walk round the block? The smoke in here is starting to hurt my eyes.’

  They wandered back towards the lab, Flora keeping pace with Moretti while he thought aloud about who could have been responsible for the break-in.

  ‘What if it wasn’t the Camorra?’ asked Flora. Moretti made no reply but just carried on staring into the middle distance. ‘Are you listening to me, Francesco?’ she asked.

  ‘What? Sorry, I was miles away. It’s not been good lately.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Flora. ‘I didn’t mean to be insensitive. This must be awful for you – it’s awful for all of us, and it’s your dig after all.’

  ‘No, it’s not that,’ he said, stopping and turning towards her. ‘Are you free this evening? To talk I mean.’

  She looked at him, perplexed. ‘Well, yes. I thought you’d want to be home with Anna though, particularly after what’s happened.’

  ‘Anna’s away at the moment.’

  She thought she detected a slight catch in his voice. ‘Sure. Where do you want to meet?’

  ‘There’s a place I know just up the road. I’ll pick you up at half past seven.’

  ‘Look, Frances
co, you’ve got a busy day in front of you, are you sure you’ll have the time? I won’t be offended if you’d prefer to leave it.’

  ‘That’s kind of you, Flora,’ he said. ‘But I need the company...’ He broke off as his mobile phone rang. She could tell from his expression and the monosyllabic replies that it wasn’t good news. ‘That was the Carabinieri,’ he said. ‘The local police have just called them. Someone’s vandalised the dig site too.’

  ‘Oh, Christ, no,’ said Flora, the colour draining from her face.

  ‘Come on, we can be there in five minutes,’ said Moretti and they broke into a run.

  On arriving at the dig the damage was worse than they had feared. Somebody had got the keys to the team’s mechanical digger and now, in place of the neat, straight-sided precision of the archaeologists’ trench was something more like a bomb crater. Wall plaster bearing traces of paint that hadn’t seen daylight for nearly two thousand years lay mixed with brickwork, earth, hardened volcanic ash and fragments of Roman building materials in a series of random heaps. They peered into the hole: whoever had done it had smashed right through the building layers and down to the natural rock below – the trench was robbed out and any hopes of continuing serious archaeology completely gone.